I am a seventies chick originally from New York City. I even went to a kid\'s party at Studio 54 (were we even 6 years old? There was a good deal of b-day party one-upmanship, and there were some doosies). My musical taste flourished in that spectacular and magical decade and I learned that music could take you anywhere - inside. My family was together back then and we went on trips to Connecticut and California with folks like Stevie Wonder, Carole King, Earth, Wind & Fire, and BilIy Joel playing in the car - that is, when we weren\'t forced to listen to classical. I love Disco and I\'m not ashamed of that. When I met Donna Summer in Nashville I almost cried. She was concerned and asked if I was ok. \'Yes,\' I stammered, \'you\'re my idol.\' \'Oh, honey, that\'s ok,\' she assured me, \'I freak out when I meet people too.\' She signed my wallet and I felt like it was some cosmic incident. Fast forward to living in Nashville 2003: I\'ve been in Nashville for three years. Broke up with the band and boyfriend back home. I have a day job for which I am truly grateful. Men are a convenient distraction but I can\'t quite seem to have a relationship without the break up make up crap. I play writer\'s nights and do solo writes and co-writes when I\'m not totally exhausted. I go back and forth between optimism and total despair wondering if anyone cares enough to give a rat\'s patootie about my music - including me (rat\'s patootie = ass). After 9/11 I doubted whether being a singer/songwriter was enough. It seemed too hopeful and maybe I couldn\'t offer the world what it needed, and maybe what I needed. Still, I keep the mostly pop tunes I've managed to record easily accessible - like in my car. I know I should be networking more but crowds and industry functions make my teeth itch and I feel like a circus animal. Be that as it may, sometimes your gut tells you to do something. Sometimes the message comes from a little lower down. Anyway, the time I\'d like to tell you about is when I listened to my gut. On this particular afternoon when there was a meeting of music business types, I found myself putting on my hot pants (hot pants = shades of blue tie-dyed jeans that people thought were hot and I was convinced) and makeup and walking out of my apartment, under some kind of energetic impetus that felt different from my everyday agenda. When I got to the meeting, albeit a bit late I sat down at a round table and joined the discussion. One of the guys at the meeting said he produced dance music. Well, hello! In Nashville you don\'t hear that a whole lot and here I was just a few seats next to the exact right person I needed to talk to! A number of different things wer discussed and I guess I took in most of it but I really couldn\'t wait to talk to the dance producer. After the meeting ended there was the usual milling around, smiling, making small talk or big talk whichever way you look at it, and I made my way talking, smiling, to John Mattick, the dance producer in the Khaki shorts and short sleeved hawaiian shirt. \'Hi, I\'m Amanda,\' I said. \'Hi, John Mattick,\' he said in his polite, reserved way. \'Hi, I was so excited to hear that you produce dance music, I write a lot of dance music!\' I was trying to be centered and cool but perhaps I just looked like an excited upstart in hot pants. \'Well, why don\'t we get together and I can hear some of your tunes.\' He said he would call and he did and we met at FIDO\'s coffee shop a few days later. I had organized my CD\'s and lyrics in a folder and excitedly sat down across from John at a table by the window. I opened the folder and John listened right there. I didn\'t know what to expect but we set up a time to write with his collaborator and brother in another life, Rodney Lawson. Rodney lives in a townhouse in downtown Nashville - three stories of a collector\'s paradise, with the top floor being the command center for the music operations. Just past the last set of stairs was a short hall leading to the attic room where towers of mixers and sound modules blinking with life, keyboards stacked like bleachers, a garden of guitars, and cables hanging on the wall like a ship\'s ropes next to pictures of Jimi Hendricks and Marlon Brando surrounded Rodney in a t-shirt and jeans at a computer controlling the setup. \'Hi, I\'m Rodney,\' he said as he stood up and extended his hand. \'Hi!\' I blurted. Am I being a dork? I wondered. Oh well. John explains how they write dance music and whatever else for artists and they play me some tracks. John has played keyboards for Alabama and Olivia Newton John and too many others to mention and Rodney, similarly professionally apportioned, has played guitar for folks like Donna Summer (!) and Kirk Franklin and together they have produced popular dance hits. \'Does this work for you?\' John asked with his trademark politeness. \'Yes.\' I smiled and I was off to the races. I had written to six of John and Rodney\'s tracks when I get to work one morning and there is a red light on the phone at my desk. A red light means I have a message. I have a message!!! The robotic phonemail voice says the message was left at 6:30 am. I listen and it\'s from Rodney. \'I just had an epiphany,\' he says, \'why don\'t we do an Amanda B CD?\' So, I replay the message. I sit there in my antiseptic cubicle processing the message. At this point, I should be working. I\'ve thought that before. My boss is coming by. I really should be working. I wait until she passes. I practically dive under my desk with the phone and call Rodney. The result is a slew of emotronic dance songs which I performed wearing small, sometimes shiny pieces of clothing at clubs around Nashville. It was fun and I have sexy (that\'s what they tell me) pics too. I hope you enjoy the music! Love, Amanda B.